Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [145]
Walther up and ready. The old woman was in a chair against the window. Knitting needles were on her lap, and a ball of yarn and a sewing basket at her feet. Scraps of cloth were all around. She was staring through the door at Dietrich, and her mouth was pulled back in a curl of fear.
Dietrich thought she must be afraid of his pistol, so he moved it behind his leg. He stepped to the door's threshold and leaned forward to peer inside. Nothing but old furniture and pieces of fabric, and uniforms and coats and dresses hanging across a bar. The old woman was a seamstress.
"Countess Hohenberg?"
She croaked piteously, "Please don't hit me."
Dietrich allowed himself a smile, a friendly one, he hoped. "I wouldn't think of it. I'm Detective Inspector Dietrich. I just want a few words with you. May I come in?"
Her face was white. Her eyes were old and leaking, and mirrored a wild fear.
Dietrich stepped inside the apartment. The place smelled of perfume and ironing. "Countess, I'm just a police officer here to have a few words with you. There's no reason to be afraid of me."
Rudolf Koder stepped in from the kitchen. "But she has good reason to be afraid of me."
Dietrich's pistol involuntarily swept to Koder.
The Gestapo agent grinned at the weapon. "We are on the same side, remember?"
Dietrich shoved the Walther into his pants, and only then did he notice Koder was carrying a meat cleaver, a heavy blade on a bone handle.
"Don't hit me again," the countess intoned. "Please."
Koder smiled at her and lifted a palm in a gesture of understanding and sympathy. He said to Dietrich, "She won't answer my questions about the American."
Color rose in Dietrich's face. "How did you find out about this lady?"
A vulpine smile. "We listen to your telephone. I thought you knew that."
Dietrich could see Koder's knuckle imprints on the countess's cheek.
The Gestapo agent said, "I know full well Jack Cray slept here last night. He left a pair of socks in a corner of the kitchen, in a bag. One of the socks had blood on it. But the so-called countess here won't tell me where he and Katrin von Tornitz are."
"Maybe I can talk with her." Dietrich sensed movement behind him. He turned to see another Gestapo agent, who had been standing on the stairs up to the next floor. This one's pistol was out, its snout pointed at Dietrich. The Gestapo agents had been expecting Dietrich, had probably been watching him from the countess's window as he arrived.
"She won't say anything. I've already tried to persuade her, but it wasn't enough." Koder brought up the cleaver. "Never let it be said that distaste for a task dissuaded me from my duty."
With speed that belied his banker's manner, he snatched the countess's hand, slapped it against her sewing table, and held it there as he viciously brought down the cleaver. The blade clapped loudly against the tabletop, and two of the countess's fingers fell to the floor where they curled like grubs.
"I must apologize," Koder said to her, still holding her hand. "No doubt that smarts. But maybe it will freshen your memory."
The countess's eyes were wild and white. She moved her jaw but no sound came. Blood dripped from her hand across the table, then fell into her sewing basket.
Dietrich rushed forward. "There's no damned reason to do that. . . ." He brought up his pistol, unsure what he would do with it.
Koder swung the cleaver in a tight arc, catching Dietrich's jaw with the flat of the blade. The detective staggered, then collapsed to his knees, dropping the Walther. A fog of pain blurred Dietrich's view of Koder and the countess. The Gestapo agent again planted her hand on the table. A trill of pain and fear escaped her.
Koder raised the cleaver. It hung in the air, shimmering with reflected light. His voice was as passionless as a cashier's. "The American was here last night, and you know where he and the woman are. Tell me."
Dietrich held up a hand. The pain in his head was echoing back and forth, and his mouth was woolly. His words were chopped with suffering. "Don't.. . don't." He tried to rise